A little over a week ago, Adele died. I met her back in June when I was writing an article about the Palliative Care Program. She was the reason that I decided to begin working a minor-job in this field. Her strong faith and contagious optimism struck a chord within me. I marveled at how she could remain so positive despite the massive growth occupying the side of her face.
For four-months I visited Adele once-a-week in her home. She would lie on her bed listening to portions of the bible read to her by our translator, after which she would proceed to give us a ten-minute sermon confirming the truth that she had just heard. Adele's daughters were always present. Sometimes they would sit beside her and listen; sometimes they would busy themselves with housework in the adjacent room.
Glory, her two-year-old grandson, provided much entertainment for us during these visits. His tiny hands were always on a mission to find objects to fidget with. Whether it was the Bible, my sunglasses, the cans of nutrition supplements, or anything that was new and foreign to him, Glory would find it and test its durability to the limit. Often, Adele would try chastise him by flicking him with a flimsy piece of straw. I truly feel that Glory was a bright light in that house - especially for Adele. He provided a pleasant distraction from her harsh condition.
As the months went by, Adele's health deteriorated rapidly. However, despite her pain, her prayer requests were always for her daughters and their salvation - never for her own healing. To watch her slowly fade away was difficult. Dealing with death is not a familiar emotion for me. I prayed desperately for her healing at first, but as time went on, I relented from my selfish desires, and submitted to the will and control of my Heavenly Father; praying instead for His will to be done. I know that He could have healed her in an instant, if He so chose.
Though we cannot always know the purposes of YHWH's (God's) perfect plans, I trust that He knows what is best for us, even before we have asked for it. I am so thankful that Adele passed away while we were still around to take care of her. With the end of the field-service approaching, the thought of all the other 'terminal' patients is heavy on my mind.
I saw Adele for the last time on October 29th. Her frail hands and body were shaking tremendously. I had a sense that she was near the end and asked for William, our translator, to read Psalm 116 to her. When we left, as she lay on her bed resting her head, I put my hand on her arm and said, "Edabo, Adelle," which means 'goodbye' in Fon.
She died peacefully the following Monday. Apparently Glory cried continuously during her last few nights, but when she passed away, he stopped. We attended the funeral last week Wednesday. I found myself sitting right in front of the closed coffin, directly opposite her weeping family. It was tough. But after seeing a portrait of Adele in healthier times seated at the head of her coffin, peace entered my heart - a peace I know she too now has.
At the end of it all, as I held a subdued Glory on my arm, I was comforted to know that Adele's joy would live on in her grandson, and the mere witness of her life would have a profound impact in the lives of her daughters.
Psalm 116:3-7
3 The sorrows of death surrounded me, and the pains of Sheol came upon me; I found trouble and sorrow.
4 Then I called upon the name of Yahweh; O Yahweh, I beg You, deliver my being.
5 Full of unmerited favour is Yahweh, and He is righteous; yes, our God is full of mercy.
6 Yahweh preserves the simple: I was brought low and He helped me.
7 Return to your rest, O my being, for Yahweh has treated you well.
Adele when I first met her.
Glory and his hungry hands.
